


More Than We Wanted to Admit

by Kaliumcyanid



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Idk I can't decide lol, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Only the slightest mention but better be safe than sorry, be easy on me, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaliumcyanid/pseuds/Kaliumcyanid
Summary: Remember Death.Death for Unus Annus was the... intended thing. It was supposed to be good, supposed to be celebrated.But after the final stream, Ethan didn't feel like celebrating anymore.He found himself suddenly crying in loneliness, suddenly feeling like he was losing something he deeply valued: the time he had with this best friend, the person he fell in love with, Mark.Nothing would ever be the same again, now that Unus Annus was gone. Ethan was sure.And so the torturing thoughts began. And so, Ethan tried to hide his hurt feelings at all cost.Until the dam broke and the brunet confessed all of the things he didn't want to admit.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 130





	More Than We Wanted to Admit

**Author's Note:**

> Short explanation for the perspective of the fic. I as a narrator decided to mainly focus on Ethan’s perspective, hence the villainous descriptions of Mark until the middle of the fic. Narrator-me will change positions following then, but I always tried to introduce clearly who’s thinking what. Sorry in advance, I just really like these not super obvious narrator changes and always loved them.
> 
> A big shoutout to one of my two bestest friends known as @Amaniaclikenoiz on here. Please see the end note to find out all she's done for this fic.
> 
> Enough of my brabbling. I hope you’ll enjoy!

* * *

Memento Mori – remember death. That was all Ethan could think about while sitting on the bathroom floor, sobbing like he had rarely sobbed before.

Back in the early times of the channel, Amy had explained the bigger picture of Memento Mori to him and Mark. The big role this saying had especially in 16th and 17th century European art and culture. Ethan being Ethan, he kept none of Amy’s smart words in mind of course, only vaguely remembering the actual occasion they had talked about it. What he remembered was the emotion, the passion, the drive behind the project that Mark showed. How Mark’s burning passion ignited the brunet.

And how burnt out he felt now.

Hollow. Empty. Dead.

He was just experiencing the inevitability of death, right here, right now.

The channel was gone now that the livestream was over. All he wanted to do was to leave the set, take his suit off in the bathroom and to go back, join the others, maybe celebrate a little. Unus Annus was– well, had been an ambitious project – for him, Mark, Amy, the editors and all participants alike, and the death of the channel was something not to mourn, but to celebrate. Or at least to the others it was, he thought.

For Ethan, something died when the clock stopped, when 000:00:00:00 appeared on the screen, when the last ticking sound could be heard, when Amy deleted the channel, when he and Mark smiled for the last time into the camera. Ethan hadn’t noticed it right away, but something deep within himself died that moment. And now that it was to be gone forever, which was what he assumed at least, it hit him like a truck. Suddenly the tears came when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror over the sink.

At first they came slowly, agonizingly slow, and then suddenly he found himself unable to stand. Just as sudden, he found himself near the wall opposite the sink. Having to crouch on the floor in the washroom part of the bathroom. The wall touching the skin on his back, cool tiles against his warm body, hot tears streaming down his face, soft hiccups leaving his frame. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

There was so much more to Unus Annus than Ethan wanted to admit, and now all of it was blurring like a dream. A yearlong dream he had been a central part of, and now it was time to wake up and face the harsh reality.

“Fuck”, he muttered in between sobs, head lying on his knees and his jeans catching his tears, his hands finding first the hood of his Soft Boi hoodie, then his hair to find comfort.

He was so fucked.

Why did he have to fall in love, he asked himself. Why did he enjoy the time with Mark so much? Why was Unus Annus the best thing that could have ever happened to him? Well, next to Mark calling him out to LA and stuff.

Even though Unus Annus was a lot of work, and we repeat, a _lot_ of work, he had never enjoyed working this much. Every single second of it had been so fucking nice, and… it made him fall in love with Mark.

Again? Well, not quite again, but in a similar way. After all this time of working with Mark, idolizing him, Ethan had finally won against this stupid crush approximately a year before Unus Annus started. One day during Unus Annus, it was suddenly back, getting bigger by the day, until he ended up with something even bigger than a crush. With love.

Ethan knew that Mark would never love him back. That wasn’t ever a big deal for the brunet. Up until now.

He would never spend as much time with him as he did before. That wasn’t a big deal. Even after the tour and the decease of Markiplier Makes. Just now it was a huge deal, suddenly.

Ethan was 100% sure he would be drowning without all of this. He would never be able to go back to feeling like he did before. Would never be able to forget. The warmth the younger man experienced now during this year of working together regularly – simply gone with the end of this livestream. The joy of sometimes even being domestic – eating together, falling asleep on Mark’s couch and being guarded by both Chica and Spencer. Mark preparing coffee in the morning when they started filming.

All of this was now gone, knowing Mark and his admirable, yet stupid work ethic. Ethan knew he didn’t come first. He came somewhere within the hundreds, if not even thousands. Mark’s priorities were somewhere else, and Unus Annus didn’t mean the same to the black-haired man as it did to Ethan. To Mark it probably was just another project, another huge internet success to brag about, to fill his narcissist mind with.

Another stupid thing that was heightening him beyond grasp. Another series of acts that actually hurt Ethan, even though he knew that these were only “bits”, a hard, rough façade that Mark kept up on video. However, for Ethan these were bits that revealed tiny truths to him. How stupid he was. How unorganized he was. How despicable he must be that Mark didn’t want to be touched by him. Disgusting. Horribly wrong. Ethan’s sobs picked up. His mind was spiraling, he was aware. What a befitting metaphor for the act of falling deeper in a soon-to-be-depressive episode caused by the end of Unus Annus, he thought. 

That was when the door opened with a slam, and Mark suddenly stood there, still in his white suit, looking too handsome, worry itched onto his face.

“Ethan, Amy wanted to look for you and she heard sobs and– Eth, you okay?” Mark sunk onto his knees, his arm finding the stiff shoulders of Ethan’s frame who was now trying to huddle himself together more tightly, trying to make himself an even smaller human ball. Fuck. He didn’t want to be found weeping in the bathroom, and he especially didn’t want to be found by the person who indirectly caused this breakdown.

“It’s okay”, the younger man managed to get out in between sobs, holding onto his head tightly. “J-just – go back. I – I’ll be with– I’ll be over soon.” Fuck, Eth, you screwed up, he told himself. All he wanted was to deal with this alone, to feel the pain until it subsided, until sweet dissociation hit him. In his part he had to go through depression and declining mental health before. He would be able to do this again. He would be able to get over this, over the loss, over his feelings, over being alone forever, over–

“Eth, no, I won’t leave you alone, not like this, not tonight. This– It’s about _us_ , not _me_. I want _you_ to feel okay and I won’t just…”

The slightly bigger man paused, waiting for a reaction, but Ethan remained silent, except for the little sobs leaving him, so he said: “Eth, can you look at me? Tell me what’s going on?” Ethan couldn’t even think to look Mark into the eyes.

How should he ever talk about this?

_I fell in love with you, my straight best friend, oopsie, sorry! I think I can’t just go back to my old, regular life before Unus Annus? Well I know you won’t ever understand this, but hey, no worries, FRIEND! Let’s just stay friends, right? Maybe you could just check in on me more and actually spend a little more time with me, just like I said in the Brutally Honest video, pretty please?_

Hell no.

The brunet frantically shook his head – well, as best as he could in his cramped, ball-like position.

Mark’s arm was still on his back, his hand holding Ethan’s shoulder tightly, softly stroking the younger man’s arm in irregular patterns. It felt warm, reassuring. Like a blessing. Like something that Ethan would never want to let go, if he had any choice within this matter. And that’s what made it hurt. All of this affection felt like actual torture to Ethan. Mark hugging him, reassuring him in a depressive breakdown, arms on him, Mark’s hands near his own. It was perfection. All the things he wanted so much, by the person he wanted so much. And then and there, he got that final little bite of what he believed the best five course meal of his live had been – how living, _being_ with Mark could be. But this moment here was something he couldn’t truly enjoy. Because Mark would never feel the same.

The younger man was breaking even more than before.

“I won’t leave you alone in here.”, Mark simply stated. The warmth of his voice gave away the look he had on his face. Ethan knew exactly how Mark looked at him right now. With determination, honesty, care.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. Mark wouldn’t simply go away and see the others, wouldn’t leave him alone for now. He would stay by his, little and weak Ethan Nestor’s, side and wouldn’t give up until the brunet was feeling better. “You know, the Unus to my Annus and stuff like that”, the older man said, softly smiling to himself.

Stop it, Ethan thought. And after a while of silence except for the rambling outside and Ethan’s sniffling to be heard in the bathroom, Ethan figured Mark wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted, as always. Ethan felt defeated; Mark would have his way again. So then, Ethan mustered all of his strength to give Mark what he wanted.

The brunet turned his head, still maintaining his human ball form, now being able to look into Mark’s eyes. How genuinely worried Mark looked stung more than he anticipated. But he had to endure this now to at least save their friendship in the long term. His glossy blue eyes locked onto Mark’s, who hadn’t been able to look away from Ethan, a warm chocolate brown. Ethan could lose himself in these dark pits forever. Ethan’s own hands now found his hair again, fidgeting with individual strands, struggling to maintain his anxiety as low as humanly possible for him right now.

After a while of just looking at each other, the brunet whispered: “I don’t wanna let go.” Tears were pooling in his eyes again.

“And– I’m not talking about the videos, the money, the subs, the fame, I don’t fucking care about that shit.” Unlike you, he silently added in his thoughts. Tears were gracing Ethan’s reddened, wet cheeks again.

Mark’s hand now found Ethan’s hair as well, black eyebrows rising on the face of the slightly taller man, locks of long, black hair falling into his face. He should’ve really brought his hair band.

“What do you mean then? Amy and I aren’t out for this world. We’re friends. We can still see each other.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. Of course, Mark wouldn’t understand. The brunet turned this head away, hands accidentally touching Mark’s that was still resting on his head despite Ethan’s movement.

“It’s not about that. I– I mean it is, kinda. I know that I _can_ still see you. It’s just–“, Ethan paused for a moment before continuing. “I know that Amy’s able to make time for me. I mean she and I’ve hung out more often than you and I did ever since the two of you separated. But–“

“But what about me, you ask?”, Mark interrupted, his hand finding Ethan’s, softly pressing into the brunets cold, cramped-looking hands.

“Yes.”, Ethan huffed, carefully thinking of his next words while internally cursing Mark’s warm, calloused hands on his own, causing thinking to become ever harder than it already was. “I don’t want to come across like an ass.“ “You don’t”, Mark threw in, knowing about Ethan’s overcritical, overly worried habits. Ethan audibly gasped out a little laugh of desperation, he _knew_ he wasn’t asking for much here in theory, but in practice it felt like a lot. The younger man faced his own knees again before continuing: “I guess you know I really meant what I said in the Being Brutally Honest with Each Other video, that I truly feel like that you should make more time for your friends.”

What Ethan believed to be a smile on Mark’s face was audible when he said “And I thought you meant the love confession”. Ethan gasped again, luckily facing his own knees. The gasp sounded like a huffed laugh and not like desperate or anything. At least he hoped it did. “I meant that as a friend, asshole”, he cheekily added, saving himself from dams breaking down on Mark, from confessions he didn’t want to happen here, didn’t want to be bubbling out suddenly. Not here, not now. Considering now, he didn’t want them to come out ever.

“I know.”, Mark whispered, now softly stroking Ethan’s head and hands interchangingly. “And I wish I could just… promise you that I’ll do better from now on. I guess I understand how… hard it is that our daily lives are changing this much”, the black-haired softly spoke with ease. Ethan just nodded, silently crying more again.

The black-haired man continued: “I hate making promises that I’m not sure that I can keep, Eth, but I can promise that I’ll do my best. That I’ll do my best, so we'll be be able to see each other more often and that we’re able to spend more time together, yes? I’m able to promise that.”

Ethan now faced Mark again, the white suit fitting his somber expression perfectly. Mark’s eyes looked dark, sad; almost empty, yet filled with shame and honesty. His look didn’t make sense to Ethan, but something within him wanted to believe that Mark was telling the truth here. That he’d try. That he’d be there for Ethan, that they’d be closer friends now. And even if it hurt that Mark was only his friend, Ethan knew this was better than to lose Mark entirely.

The younger man softly nodded, sniffling away. “Come, big boy”, Mark softly said, now holding out his hand. “Let’s go and see the others. Amy’s probably worried to death about you.”

Ethan took Mark’s hand (big mistake, his heart silently yelped at the warm touch), being picked up from the ground with ease, softly padding his remaining tears away with the sleeve of his yellow hoodie.

“You okay?”, Mark asked again, holding Eth’s shoulder now. The brunet just nodded. “Good”, the raven-haired said, a slight smile on his face. “Let’s go.”

Ethan left the bathroom with a little glimpse of hope that things wouldn’t get as horribly bad as he imagined.

* * *

But they did.

It was now two months after the Unus Annus livestream. Ethan had waited a week or two for Mark to contact him. Nothing came.

Then the younger man tried to pick up where their friendship’s pace was at before, on his own to, you know, ease Mark into his promise. To softly remind him that Ethan hadn’t forgotten and that the brunet had intentions of keeping up. He had been texting Mark for a little more than a week about hopping over, bringing breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, whatever. He’d even watch Mark “eating” his Taki’s again. Other ideas, more appealing than the Taki incident, included walking the dogs together (with masks and all necessary safety precautions, because damage dealt by certain people in the country wasn’t going to get fixed within a few months’ time), going to a dog park, maybe even just streaming together, playing _Fall Guys_ or _Among Us_ or something. Anything.

No answer.

Not even a dumb excuse. If not for the daily videos and streams, Mark could have vanished and Ethan wouldn’t have noticed.

At first he was completely numbed by the pain, but within the last days, he became increasingly angry with Mark. Ethan stopped asking Mark these dumb questions of spending time together something like 5 weeks ago. “Seeing each other more often my ass”, the younger man mumbled to himself lost in thought between videos, his fingertips touching his soft, tattooed skin. Mindlessly he looked over his arm, glimpse halting when he saw his timer tattoo. Unus Annus was gone. And so was their time. Inevitably dead.

On Christmas, Ethan received the first text from Mark, apologizing for not answering, because he “was busy” with his projects he mentioned in the post Unus Annus video on his channel. Heist 2 and stuff.

And all of the rest of his bullshit mumbling. Just acts of courtesy, if you asked Ethan. Well, at least he had the courtesy to actually try and hide the stupid narcissist Mark facet. He came to that conclusion as he watched Mark’s video on the death of Unus Annus on the four-week mark of the slightly taller man not responding, and this marked the end of numb time and sparked furious anger within Ethan. Whilst his own video was somber, soft, him speaking out on their achievements, Ethan finally feeling proud of himself and speaking out about that in a subtle, yet honest matter, Mark’s video was about numbers. The thumbnail alone was infuriating to Ethan. About success. About stroking his own virtual dick. Unus Annus was just another project to Mark, like _Heist_ , like _A Date with Markiplier_. Another stupid internet fame thing. He didn’t even sound _sad_ that it ended. Mark was just sucking in the emotions of all folks who actually grieved, making them his own trophy. The emotions of grief that Mark was mindlessly absorbing as the “most amazing buildup” or whatever; these included Ethan's. And Ethan was probably grieving the most.

When the brunet received the text, he remembered the fury of watching the video and decided on a whim to not stroke that big ego of Mark’s any longer. He didn’t reply, put his phone aside and focused on his little bud Spencer and his family.

The next text he received on New Year’s, when Ethan was back in LA. Again, Ethan didn’t reply.

The next text came a week later. “Are you okay, Eth?” Via Instagram, Twitter; even on Discord and Steam Eth saw a “Please answer my messages”. Ethan ignored each and every one of them, focusing on his uploads, his projects, his streams. Sometimes, in between, Mark tried to call or facetime him.

Fans got worried when his drunk streams increased in frequency. Mark’s messages and calls changed to the daily – “I’m worried sick, Eth”. It was just like when he and Mika separated – the brunet tried to focus on work. Had a short film in planning. More tattoos in planning. More fun streams with his actual friends in planning. And he was aware that he should cut down on the alcohol on-stream, too.

But to be honest, these were the times he actually felt a little more free of these stupid feelings for Mark that still dwelled inside his heart, that came up late at night when he was in bed, late at night when he did… other things, occasionally. His fantasies, his dreams were filled with suggestive Unus Annus bits. How _stupidly hot_ Mark looked in red bondage ropes. How much hotter he’d look when he would be naked underneath the ropes. How the silky rope would cut a little into his skin, how the knots and rope formations would highlight his pecs, his abs, his stupidly strong arms, and yet, Mark would let Ethan have _his_ way, would even be begging for more, begging for Ethan to finally fuck him silly and to manhandle him until he’d be ready to cum. A wish that Ethan, cherishing Mark’s beautiful begs while edging and awfully slowly fucking him, of course fulfilled, eventually making Mark cum all over his chest, sharing sweet kisses and love declarations after sex, cleaning his body and untangling him from the ropes, cuddling him to sleep. More often than Ethan wanted to admit, he woke up with not only an aching member in his underwear, but a breaking heart. The dreams felt too real. The kisses too sweet. The sex too good. All of this shit didn’t stop, not even after almost three months of not seeing Mark.

Mark commented on the alcohol on stream as well. His messages now arrived multiple times a day. Ethan didn’t even read them anymore. “At least you’re streaming, so I know you’re alive, but I’m-“ – that’s how much the preview gave away to Ethan. He didn’t want to read more. He didn’t want to read anything from Mark anymore. All of his messages didn’t mean anything, in the end. They were hollow shells of words, so the brunet swiped them away, hoping that at some point Mark would just finally give up and let him live in peace. That the torture would just fucking finally end.

The real torture, however, was just about to begin.

It was a late January afternoon filled with pouring rain. Ethan was chilling with Spencer in his living room when the doorbell rang. His roommate Kathryn was still, or even again(?) with her family. Ethan wasn’t too sure now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her in a month, basically. Anyway, it couldn’t be her or one of her friends coming over. Maybe she had ordered something and sent it to their shared home? Ethan was quite sure he didn’t order anything. But it was quite late for the delivery services to turn up, anyway.

Ethan’s had his free day, so he wore some casual prototype merch, a pair of sweatpants and his glasses, because lately he hasn’t had the nerves to fumble with his contacts. He reluctantly rose from the couch and found his way to the hallway.

The brunet opened the front door, saw _his_ face and immediately wanted to close it again, but Mark was too quick, putting his foot in between the door frame and the door.

Fuck. Ethan should use the door viewer thing more often before actually opening it.

Still holding the knob, Ethan opened the door again, threw his head back into his neck, sighing loudly. Right.

Mark knew where he lived, even though he hadn’t been over anytime within the past years.

“Hey”, Mark threw in casually, standing in the door frame still, huddling into his jacket more because it was really cold and unbelievably rainy outside – for LA standards, at least. Ethan didn’t answer. He just looked at the ceiling. Why did that bastard have to show up?

“I uhm”, Mark stuttered. When the older man was looking to sort out his words, Ethan was dumbfounded that Mark was indeed _able to stutter_. He should’ve been able to cherish this small inner triumph a little longer, but the raven-haired man picked his sentence up. “I guess we should see each other and talk.”

That’s it, Ethan thought. Time for talking had been over a few months ago. He felt something within him detonate with the force of – well, he didn’t know science and shit, that was usually Mark’s métier.

“Oh, _seeing_ each other, _talking_.”, he said mockingly, “Right. The thing I tried for about a week after Unus Annus died without any feedback from Mr. Fischbach at all.”

Ethan was surprised how smoothly his words came out, how pointed his anger was. “How _nice_ of you to turn up here, _finally_. You only let me wait how many months – two? Three?”

He looked into Mark’s eyes, finally, which partially gave away his thoughts – saddened that Ethan’s eyes weren’t the nice shade of blue that Mark was used to, that Ethan’s bottom lip was trembling with anger.

But Mark didn’t say anything right away. He lowered his eyes, suggesting that Ethan’s anger was… understandable. That the verbal stabs were rightly pointed against him.

“Can I come in?”, he just weakly responded after a while.

“No, you cannot. In fact, I’d really like you to leave.”, Ethan said.

“Please, Ethan.”

“You’ve heard me, I’d really like you to leave, Mark.”

But Mark didn’t move an inch.

Ethan sighed, losing his patience, adding in: “Oh my fucking god, Mark, why can’t you just fucking– you never do anything that I ask for. I can’t– I–”

“I know that I’ve been acting dumb, but I’m worried about you and I wanted to set things… straight.”, the raven-haired man replied. Mark’s eyes did show resolve, yes, but Ethan didn’t trust his gut anymore. He trusted his evaluation after the livestream and things went from okay to bad to shitty to depression to ‘Hello darkness my old friend’ depression levels within two weeks. He wasn’t ready for whatever Mark had to say.

“Setting things straight?”, Ethan asked, “After you straight up _lied_ to me about staying in touch with me when I sat on a fucking bathroom floor, weeping my idiot eyes outs? No thanks, I don’t wanna hear any of your lies again.” He tried to forcefully close his own door again, but stupid strong Mark simply held the door open, speaking in a desperate tone. “Eth, I know I fucked up truly bad, but– I can– let me explain myself and my– well– reasoning, please, then I’ll–“

“I don’t wanna hear anything– y-you’ve hurt me badly, y’know?” Ethan was now equally desperate trying to close his front door when Mark got hold of one of his wrists – “Ethan, I understand, but I’m worried sick, please, let’s…“

That was when Ethan ripped his arm out of Mark’s touch, saw the headboard on the wall with Spencer’s leash and the keychains, grabbed the keys for the house and simply ran out of his house straight into the pouring rain of LA.

He couldn’t stand this any second longer. He was about to explode with all of the pent-up feelings inside him. Seeing Mark, touching Mark, faintly smelling Mark? All of it was just exemplifying how fucking done Ethan was without him. The silence was killing him, the abundance of his best friend, the man he wanted to be his lover, the pain he went through.

He realized that nothing he ever wanted more was Mark. Mark apologizing for the bullshit he pulled off. But how could he trust _anything_ that Mark said? He wanted to hear these words, but at the same time it was messing with his brain, deconstructing each and every of his fibers. He didn’t want to be fucked over again; he didn’t want to feel as hurt as he did in his hallway minutes ago.

And so he ran through the cold LA rain, until he couldn’t run anymore. Everything just hurt. His legs, his lungs, but mostly his heart. The cold rain stung on his skin; his clothes completely soaked by the icy rain.

“Ethan!”

Apparently, Mark followed him into the rain. And the younger man came to a sudden halt.

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCK OFF AND LEAVE?!”, he screamed towards the black-haired man.

And that’s when the dam finally broke.

“You don’t fucking understand anything, Mark! You don’t get how much it hurts to see you! You couldn’t ever get it, because you’re straight and because you’re so ambitious and hard-working, and I really, really do love– I really _do_ love you for that. And every year before Unus Annus, I’d have begged you to stay with little, lowly Eth, and I’d have taken anything from you, any little second, how shitty it might’ve been, but– but… Unus Annus had shown me how fucking great things could go between us. And I– I love you, Mark, not as a friend, but as a– in a– romantic sense. I love you, you prick.” Now his shoulders were violently shaking and he was sobbing.

“I adored this year we had, I love what we had and I know that you’re straight and that– I wanted to keep our friendship intact, because if I can’t have you, then I wanted to have you at least as a friend. And I realized all of that at the end of the stream– and– and y’told me that– that you’d be there. You promised you’d try. And you weren’t there at all and it– all of it hurts so fucking bad. I wanna be on your side, but not as some kind of starring role. I wanna be your friend, because I can never ever even dream of being your lover, but I– I don’t wanna be just– I don’t wanna come last after all of your projects and your career and your“ – Ethan had to pause and had to draw in a breath.

“Do you even know how hard it was to tell you that I love you like a bro? Like, with no romantic intent at all? Do you even know how much that hurt? Do you know how disgusting I felt when you said that I shouldn’t touch you? You _know_ how much this is how I just am, to be touchy-feely with everyone, with my friends, and with… with the one I _love_. I feel like shit, because I feel so low, but yet I want to be at your side even though apparently I’m too worthless to even keep contact to.”

There it was. All of the antagonizing thoughts he harbored towards Mark for the last weeks busted out.

Ethan cried bitter tears, because now he was sure that he’d screwed it up forever. Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to see Mark’s expression after his hell of a confession, because his vision was blurry from the tears and the rain and his glasses fogging up.

The rain mercilessly poured onto them and Mark stood opposite Ethan in shock, lost within his mind:

Finally, it all made sense to the older man. Why Ethan didn’t respond, why he was so heartbroken, why it was so important to him that he, Mark, would still be with him after Unus Annus. And once more, Mark realized how badly he screwed up… well, basically all of their interactions for a long time. And how he himself should have just been honest with Ethan, instead of just abandoning him for their friendship’s sake.

Mark, himself fully drenched by the rain as well, slowly approached Ethan, opened up his arms whilst making his way. “Don’t you fucking dare to touch me.”, Ethan growled, but Mark didn’t comply. He hugged the smaller boy, tightly, like he would never let go of Ethan again, and Ethan tried to push the black-haired man away. No success, once again tonight, Ethan thought. Something within him was getting even more angry. He couldn’t stop Mark from intruding his own home, and now he couldn’t even change the fact that when Mark wanted to hug him – he apparently just simply could. He should’ve trained more, the younger man told himself, maybe then he could’ve stood a chance; and something about the fact especially in terms with the past comments of Unus Annus, describing him as always so tiny and weak against Mark, as the one who always lost anyways, didn’t sit right in the back of his mind. Always the small, tiny one, the one to never stand a chance, yada yada. That mess was something he could ponder on later. It was the smallest problem he had right now. He was stuck in the arms of the man he loved, where he desperately wanted to be as a lover, but could never be. Where he could be as a friend, but never comfortably. Ethan just… wanted to go.

“Asshole”, he said into Mark’s shoulder, head hanging, still trying to push the taller man’s shoulders away from him. “You can’t just not hurt me, can you? Like you haven’t dealt enough damage already, like I’m not already in shambles and hurt and…”

Mark lifted his embrace, and held Ethan’s shoulders. Forceful. Hurtful.

“Ethan. Let me speak for a second.” And the look that Mark had on his face was… weird. His brows were furrowed, the warm brown eyes stern, fixed on Ethan’s face. Dark. But hopeful.

“Ethan, I’m an idiot and I fucked up so badly. I understand that my actions have hurt you; I understood earlier, but now I realize that more than ever, now that I understand your...feelings for me.” Ethan began crying again, because this was the part where Mark would turn him away forever, where Mark would–

“But I need to confess something as well. You’ve said that the fake love confession in the Being Earnest vid was breaking you apart. I– I feel the same, Eth.”

A few seconds passed. “…what?”, the brown-haired asked dumb-founded.

“Eth, this confession hurt so much, because… to me, this sounded like the most honest, the most perfect and beautiful love declaration someone could’ve given me, but … I thought this wasn’t meant as an actual love confession, even if I wished for that _so_ badly. I had to reply that I love you too, without sounding too earnest, because in my mind, this declaration wasn’t meant as a romantic thing, but a bro-thing? I hoped so badly that you were talking about the love confession, y’know, in the bathroom on set after the livestream when we talked about what you were serious about in the video.”

Ethan’s mind wasn’t working anymore. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not, Ethan. I love you. I couldn’t stand seeing you anymore after that, couldn’t handle seeing you beforehand, during editing, in that beautiful black suit, couldn’t think of anything but you and couldn’t see any of your actions without having the sudden urge to storm over and kiss you. The weird poses while band marching, us tasting soap, us having dinner… it was like with the wall during the fitness test, at some point I wouldn’t have had any willpower left to resist the urge.”

Ethan couldn't believe his ears, couldn't fathom the utter vulnerability in Mark's voice. But he didn't seem to be done yet, so the younger man just listened in stunned silence.

“That’s why I didn’t reply after the stream. I know I hurt you with that, and you cannot imagine how much I despise myself for that, but I thought at least I could save our friendship – by buying myself time to cool down, to leave those feelings behind me for a bit. Which worked only moderately well, by the way, but I couldn’t resist the urge to say something at least for Christmas and New Year’s. And then you didn’t reply, and I was starting to get worried. I meant to be there for you, to maybe help you out and I tried to contact you, I– you’ve been looking so down and tired in your streams, and you drank so much, _too_ much and– and I was _still_ afraid that I’d do something stupid when I’d turn up at your door, so I didn’t head over. But after a while I realized that I needed to make sure you’re okay, that I _needed_ to be there for you even if it meant that I had to muster all of my strength to not kiss you or do anything weird or out of place for a friendship, but… I understand now, and I– I’m so sorry, Ethan. I love you, I truly do, and I never should’ve hurt you like this.”

Mark was rarely getting as emotional as like this; Ethan even thought he saw Mark shed a tear or two whilst explaining his reasoning amidst the rain pouring down his face.

“But you’re straight”, Ethan said. Whyever his stupid brain meant that this was something to come up with right now. Mark smiled, surprised by the sudden change of tone.

“Well, apparently I’m not as straight as I thought I was, Eth. But I guess I don’t care? You always said that sexuality’s a spectrum, not something fixed and… yeah. I guess you’re right and I guess the people I liked up until now just were… girls by chance.” Finally, he let go of Ethan’s shoulders with this iron grip of him, simply standing near him, looking at him. 

“I guess you’re right, I do say that all the time.”, Ethan replied weakly, maybe even softly after a while. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning, unable to move or think.

The fuck happened here? Mark, _the_ Mark, his Mark(?) gave him a love confession. And somehow that clicked with him and it… made sense in the weirdest way possible. The torture was done and it felt like he was finally allowed to leave the prison his mind built. In the back of his head he always knew that he painted Mark too black, that his mental accusations were too rough. Mark was a good guy – that’s why he harbored this little crush for too many years and why this stupid crush bloomed into something called love and – now this apparently wasn’t unrequited love anymore? What?

But today he felt like he’s seen the true Mark that was hidden behind all these bits within Unus Annus, only showing through sometimes like when he actually started crying in the more than once mentioned Brutally Honest video. That true, raw Mark, _his_ Mark stood in front of him right now, the Mark he fell in love with. Strong, but so full of thought and compassion. Compassion he might just forget over his raging passion for what he does, because once he decides he wants something, he won't let go. Yes, it's selfish and greedy and Ethan experienced this on his body (his shoulders hurt _so_ badly) and mind within the last three months as well as during Unus Annus, but it's also the true colors of raw passion that he always was fascinated with. Blinding passion that ignited him, inspired him and made him work harder. That made him become a better version of himself – well in theory, not in the last three months, yeah, but during Unus Annus? Definitely. And now, maybe, he could feel that same passion and desire directed towards himself? The mere thought let his heart jump, but he stopped this train of thought.

Not so fast. This was too fast, too easy. Things were never this easy. And he was still pissed. Still hurt. Doubtful.

“Eth, can I… touch your shoulder?”, Mark asked, suddenly rendering Ethan’s running thoughts quiet. “Huh?”, the smaller one answered, Mark quietly chuckling like he was used to this and like he felt… endeared to Ethan’s spacing out. “Earth to Eef, I asked if could… touch your shoulder, your arm. Anything.”

The brunet was flabbergasted and he started to feel the cold rain seeping through his skin onto his bones. Now that all of flames of anger had been burned out, now that the adrenaline was leaving the system, his body started to feel cold. “So now as I’m not fighting it anymore, you’re asking?”, he blurted out. A little smile ran up his slightly puffy face. He began to shiver now and noticed the same with Mark.

“Well, I said I’m aware I’m an idiot. I do plan to act less like one in our future,” Ethan’s heart just skipped a beat with this expression, “and I want to start making things right today.” Mark held out his shaking hand towards Ethan who hesitantly raised his arm until his hand found Mark’s. This gesture made the black-haired man smile one of the most genuine, happiest smiles Ethan ever had seen and it stole his heart once more, until the younger boy’s mind stopped him again from being too happy.

And like Mark could read Ethan’s mind, he said: “I know I’ve betrayed your trust the past months, but I will make things better from now on. I am going to communicate things as best as I can and I’m sure– I know I’ll need your help for that. C-can I touch your face? I kinda– I really want to hold you like this…”

Ethan nodded; hesitance still shown through his actions. Mark stepped forward, still maintaining eye contact, still holding Ethan’s hand softly like he could always let go when Ethan wasn’t okay with their touch anymore. Mark’s other hand found the brunet’s cheek, touching him like a feather, like something worthy, precious. When his hand fully found Ethan’s cold, damp cheek, Mark’s look was so similar to the look he had when he was focused on space. Dark brown eyes glowing like he finally held the universe in his own little hand, enthralled, fascinated, at home. Finally at home, like when you’ve been out of town for weeks. Mark let out a deep breath and continued, “I won’t ever betray your trust again, Eth, I promise. I’ll be there for you, and I’ll talk more and make you understand more.”

Ethan closed his eyes, barely leaning into the touch. He wished they could talk more, he wished they could easily get over this, but he felt his body betraying him, sending more emergency signals that he should go somewhere dry and somewhere warm.

“Mhm”, he hummed in response. “That would be… good.” He opened his eyes, vision still blurry from the rain and the tears he shed today. He reluctantly continued: “But… first we should get ourselves to my place, my body’s starting to feel… weird.” Mark nodded and replied with a well-known, but softer “You right” that he always used, that the fans loved. The older man ran his thumb over Ethan’s cheek once more, giving him an affectionate, bright and warm smile, which made Ethan feel like he wouldn’t be able to walk home, even more than he already did. His knees were weak, he felt super cold and was happy that Mark was leading them slowly back to Ethan’s home.

“Is Kat at your place?”, Mark asked when they entered the house, creating puddles on the tiles in the hallway as gravity did its work on their wet clothes. “No, I assume she’s either still or again with her parents”, Ethan answered, now shivering all over, teeth violently shattering. Mark himself didn’t look too good, but he seemed to manage better in contrast to the younger man. “Good lord, Eth, can you please go and take a hot shower? I’ll take care of the mess here, meanwhile”, Mark answered. “What about you?”, Ethan asked. “I can’t just leave you here in your wet stuff.”

“I’m fine”, Mark insisted, “at least in comparison to you. I– this is– _weird_ , but I guess I’ll just throw my clothes off here and throw them in the washer, can I borrow some–” Ethan already threw his shoes, socks, his sweatpants and his sweater on the floor. He was glad that Unus Annus had literally taken the shame of being half-ass naked in front of Mark off of him, that he was used to being seen by him already, so this wasn’t weirding him out anymore. Any more embarrassment on top of everything today would kill him, he was sure about that. Not that it mattered right then and there, as all he wanted to do was just get out off these stupid, cold, wet clothes and get warm again. Later on, when his body wasn’t sending out immediate danger signals, this might’ve been a different deal, however. Anything that he was used to would help him out today and wouldn’t let anxiety spike once more. “Sure, help yourself, just take anything out of my closet.”, the younger man said. “I’ll go and take a quick shower; I’ll hurry so you’re able to hop in right after.”

Mark was now opening his jacket, slipping out of his shoes. “Thanks, Eth.”, and the brunet hopped up the stairs. Mark, again lost in his own thoughts and actions, stripped to his undergarments as well, looking for a laundry basket in the cellar. Quickly finding one, he threw their things, except for Ethan’s shoes, which he put under the radiator, and left his own in the hallway, first into the basket, then into the washing machine – he was glad that Ethan’s washing machine had a dryer built in. The washing thing done, and the drying was one thing less to worry about.

He then quickly grabbed a cleaning rag and removed the watery mess in the hallway, washing that out; then running upstairs into Ethan’s bedroom, grabbing one of the pastel Soft Boi hoodies, not looking too closely anywhere. People always hid something in their closet, he thought to himself; he was the same. And today wasn’t the day to find out even more about Ethan. He would’ve liked to, he always wanted to, but he wanted to give him space. There’d be more than enough time for them to explore Ethan’s secrets, with his permission, of course. He then looked for a pair of sweatpants and socks, luckily finding some rather quickly and without too much rummaging. That’s when he had an idea.

When Mark went back into the hallway, he stopped at the bathroom which Ethan was showering in. “Eth, can you hear me?” He tried to talk over the running shower, not failing miserably as the younger man replied with a simple “Yeah”.

“I had an idea, and uhm– only if you’re okay with that! I’d like to drive back home quickly and come back and… stay the night, if that’s okay? I– on your bedroom floor, to be clear, I don’t wanna rush you! I’d just drive home, get Chica, some clothes and the portable mattress.”

He heard the shift in the water, heard that Ethan must have been moving before, but wasn’t now. “That’d be… nice”, he answered. Barely audible behind the closed door and the running water.

“Okay, I’ll keep you updated on where I am and stuff, watch your phone. See you in a bit!”, Mark answered, sounding… giddy. Happy. Excited.

When Ethan turned off the shower, he heard the door closing downstairs, and the fear crept back into his mind. What if Mark played a really, really weird game of gay chicken with him now? Dear lord. He wouldn’t survive that. But.

He heard his phone buzz, receiving the first message from Mark already. … what a dork, he wasn’t even gone for a minute. Admittedly, Mark was right to write to Ethan, as his mind _was_ going insane after such a short amount of time.

When Ethan went back to his room with his towel and his phone, he threw on some random underwear, his comfiest sweater. Mark had taken the blue Soft Boi sweater, so his favorite, the yellow, was still there. Not that he had minded if Mark took the yellow one. Would’ve been cute to see that, and it might’ve tipped the favoritism even more towards the yellow one. In addition, he found his warmest sweatpants, nice fluffy socks. He threw himself on his bed and… pondered.

What happened within the last hour? He confessed? Mark confessed? Mark would spend the night? …what?

As he mentally went through the things that happened, his phone buzzed again and again. So when an hour had passed, Ethan had a look on his phone and received numerous voice messages. That Mark was on his way, that he was home and now showering (weird territory to think about right now, Ethan realized), that he was now wearing his own clothes again (still… weird), pushing Ethan’s clothes through a washing and drying cycle, that he’d now settled Chica into his car and was on his way, stopped at a grocery store to grab stuff for chili and hoped Ethan would be okay with that, that he’d be happy to cook with him properly for once after a long while because cooking on Unus Annus was rather strange and weird, that he was on his way back.

If was comforting hearing Mark’s soft voice. The earnest way he spoke. He genuinely seemed excited and caring about the fact that,

a: this was hard for Ethan to wrap his head around that Mark loved-loved him,

b: he was extremely afraid Mark wouldn’t turn up again.

The messages made the brunet’s heart pump a little slower, made his anxiety manageable.

When Mark came back with the stuff he wanted to bring and a very excited Chica, they went to Ethan’s kitchen and cooked up chili, softly speaking about approaching things slowly for Ethan’s sake. Mark was fully on board with the younger man and agreed to take as much time as the brunet needed. Meanwhile both the dogs were playing in the living room. Now that Ethan thought about it, he was _so fucking glad_ that Mark did close the door behind him when he dashed out into the rain and Mark followed him, leaving Spencer at home in safety. Spencer didn’t seem to mind the already familiar Chica in his home, he was even bringing along his toys for her to play with, showing her around, letting her rest in one of his many beds. While the boys were cutting onions, they were reminded of all of the Unus Annus videos revolving around onions and finally began to find a rhythm in talking about things in a more normal way for them. Ethan even laughed a little.

And Mark realized that this laugh added a few years back on Mark’s lifetime, because _finally_ Eth was a little more acting his old ways.

The chili was delicious, Mark thought to himself, but he wasn’t surprised at all. Ethan was a really good cook despite the clumsiness he usually showed, and the black-haired man was glad that he had the idea to grab something to cook – surely not because he enjoyed the sight how skilled Ethan was cutting things. It was nice because it was such a stark contrast with his usually clumsy behavior. Also, something warm in their bellies was surely good for their bodies as well, as they had suffered the cold rain long enough.

After a rather quick cooking session and thousands of Mark’s “Can I”-questions directed towards Ethan (Can I be this close to you? Can I steal the knife for a bit? Can I sit next to you while eating?), the boys decided to throw on just the random trending Netflix movie and sat on the couch, followed by even more “Can I”’s.

Yes, he was allowed to sit flush to Ethan’s side, yes, it was okay that they’d share a blanket, that he could put his arm on the backboard of the couch behind Ethan’s body. They were quiet, mostly focused on the movie, until Mark felt Ethan’s head softly drop onto his shoulder and he tensed up, but Ethan didn’t… react. Mark was carefully looking down onto the slightly smaller man and realized that he… fell asleep. Poor thing, he thought to himself, suppressing the want to ruffle his hair, to pull a few weird sitting strands out of his peacefully sleeping face. God, he could get addicted to this feeling of the younger man leaning on him, but now was not the time to pander things like these. Ethan made it clear – slow steps. And the position they were in felt like a rather quick step. Mark paused the film, softly speaking to sleeping Ethan in hopes of waking him up. And he did, his little scrunchy expression facing Mark, remaining in their close embrace, stoically realizing: “We’ve cuddled”, a little smile softening his face afterwards. The older man immediately blushed, words rushing out of his mouth. “I uh, I didn’t know if you’d be okay with us– uh… So I, uh, wanted to wake you up right when it happened and, uh– wanna head upstairs and sleep?”

Ethan just nodded, hands finding his sleepy face. He immediately headed towards the upstairs bathroom, Mark following him, quickly turning off the TV and the lights behind them. Ethan was the first to be done with brushing his teeth and washing his face, and went right into his bedroom. When Mark came in a few minutes later, he found Ethan changed into his pajamas. Plaided cloth, in a dark blue, they suited him so much. The brunet was asleep on the left side of his bed, sleeping soundly on his belly, arm hanging off the mattress. It was a hard day on him, yeah. No wonder he was succumbing to sleep this quickly. Well, it wasn’t only a day for him. For them. The buildup had been intense for both of them, but especially Ethan. Within the last weeks of livestreams, he’s looked always tired, so very tired. Mark was glad he was finally able to get at least a bit of rest.

He prepared his portable little bed next to Ethan’s bedside, the one where the other boy slept, closed the curtains quietly, turned off the lights, changed into his Markiplier pajamas, went into his makeshift bed and quickly checked his phone while laying next to Ethan. Well, y’know, not really next to him, but just about 30 centimeters lower. When Mark put his phone aside, he fully noticed the brunet’s arm hanging off the bed right next to his hand. As the older man’s eyes adjusted, he admired how the hand of his lover was just dangling next to him. Was it even right to call Ethan his lover already? He'd love it if he could just call him that. His eyes glossed over the painted fingernails, the pronounced knuckles, the slim yet strong fingers, the blue friendship bracelet he wore. How much he’d love to hold Ethan’s hand again, he thought to himself. To kiss his hand goodnight. But it wasn’t the right time yet.

When he dreamed about holding Ethan’s hand and his beautiful body closely, flushed next to his sides, Mark fell asleep, wondering what the future held for them.

The sun hit Ethan’s bed mercilessly, because apparently, he didn’t close the curtains properly last night. For the first time in forever, he slept through the night and woke up through natural daylight. He checked his clock, 8:30. Didn’t he set an alarm last night, he asked himself. Something felt off. Something was _definitely_ off.

And that’s when he realized. He didn’t go to bed alone last night. He confessed yesterday. The man he loved confessed to him as well. They spend the night cooking and watching a movie.

Mark was here.

He sat up like he was struck by lightning, quickly scanning the room. The other half of his bed seemed untouched, just as promised, and on the side of his bed was the mattress that Mark brought. Still warm. But no Mark wasn’t to be seen.

Fuck. Mark.

He didn’t just leave, did he? He didn’t just flee from Ethan out of gay panic? He couldn’t be far, his stuff was still here, the bed somewhat warm. So Ethan rushed out of his room, subsequently ignoring his glasses, calling him through the house. Thank fuck Kat wasn’t home.

That was when he heard someone calling him from the kitchen. Hearing his voice, he almost jumped down the stairs in blind panic. There he was. Bowl in his hand, apparently preparing breakfast.

Mark was standing there. Long hair, wearing his glasses, looking at him with a worried, yet loving look. Ethan loved it when Mark wore his glasses, and he remembered the old Markiplier pajamas. Mark was rambling something about how he didn’t want to scare him, he’d thought the younger man would check his phone first before blindly panicking and looking for him and that he didn’t want to wake him up. Ethan didn’t care. He almost launched himself at Mark, who luckily reacted quickly enough, setting the bowl aside before Ethan met his body and hugged him. Tightly, hiding his head in the crook of Mark’s neck.

“Eth, it’s okay, I’m here”, he murmured into the brunet’s ear, holding the younger equally as tight when he realized the soft sobs and shivers from his body, feeling his pulse beating violently in anxiety and fear on his back. “I’m here, and I’m here to stay.”

“I was– shit, I’m sorry. Oh god.” Ethan lifted his head, tears pooling in his eyes, looking at Mark. “I was so afraid that you’d be gone, realizing all of yesterday was– fuck, a mistake? Oh god. I’m so glad you’re here” the brunet said before hiding his head in Mark’s neck for a short while once more. Mark rubbed soft circles into the younger man’s back, still sobbing softly. Mark felt the slight dampness of Ethan’s tears on his skin, but he didn’t mind at all. When Ethan lifted his head again, he looked Mark straight into the eyes.

“I– I’m sorry– I– oh god, I myself said that I wanted to take this slow– but you I thought you were gone– and I was so fucking afraid, Mark, I– can I– can we please– I have this weird idea of kissing you and I’m– is that too quick? I– “

And then, the slightly taller man broke, his fuse burned, and he couldn’t stand Ethan talking about imagining to kiss him. Within a second, he held Ethan’s face and kissed him like the world ended within this moment. And that was when the brunet’s worries finally broke into shambles. Mark was here, Mark was holding him, Mark was kissing him. It was real.

The raven-haired man, however, quickly realized his mistake and pulled back. “Eth, fuck, I’m sorry, we wanted to do this slow, but– “, and again, actions spoke more than words and Ethan just reconnected their lips for a little while for a soft, reassuring kiss. It was the younger man who spoke up afterwards. “Don’t apologize”, before hugging Mark again. “You’re here, and you’re real. And all of this is real.”

Mark was… within another headspace. He simply nodded and softly went through the tangles of Ethan’s hair, seemingly enlightened by the kiss, by the importance of the young man in his arms. There they were. Where both of them always dreamt to be. Without them allowing themselves to dream of this.

When Mark realized that he forgot about the bacon on the stove, Ethan fell into real, genuine laughter.

They shared breakfast. Slightly burned bacon and scrambled egg.

They went on an extended walk with the dogs.

And when Mark was ready to head back home, they promised that they’d “go out” eating dinner the next day. They shared by a short goodbye kiss, initiated by Ethan.

Yes, they’d take their time. They’d have tons of things to discuss. But finally, they had each other. In the ways that they only ever secretly admitted to themselves. They finally shared their feelings, feelings that were always more than they wanted to admit.

They had each other now. And that was all that was important.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first fic on AO3 and I’ve always been weirdly confused with the tagging system ever since I joined. If you have any tag suggestions, feel free to help a newbie out. ^_^V  
> Yeah, about the fic. I decided to begin with… this banger on here. Almost 10k, huh? I guess that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written. Anyways, I had a weird (read: mentally straining) time ever since the Unus Annus livestream and I’ve written this to cope with the loss of the channel and other more serious encounters with friends.  
> I promised to gush about Amaniaclikenoiz, please check out her fics. She did not only provide me with the sweetest constructive criticism (she found out that male people with brown hair are actually called brunets… the dedication, everyone), but she contributed actual bits to the fic, beta-read this, went through the overall arc that I planned for it, and generally went through the pain of Unus Annus with me. Oh, and we did a playlist for the fic together, too. I couldn’t have a better partner in crime. All the platonic love for you, my dear. And thank you for contributing English typos in private messages that sparked more than one follow-up idea for this fic. Because, yes, there will be more. 
> 
> Disclaimer song time: Hey now, don’t send this to Mark or Ethan, dadadadada, hey now, I know that this is only self-indulgent fiction and I truly respect any relationships they have or want to have in the future, so please keep it on this site and in our heads. Huh? What do you mean with this doesn’t fit the scheme of the disclaimer song anymore? :D


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